The Dream Catcher
by Purely-True
Summary: She's a threat, she's elusive, they didn't know what to make of her. They couldn't compare her to anything they've ever seen before. She was going to be the end of them. Reviews are greatly loved.
1. Dasha

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters... at all.

Title: The Dream Catcher

Rating: M for later chapters

Summery: She's a threat, she's elusive, They didn't know what to make of her. They couldn't compare her to anything they've ever seen before. She was going to be the end of them.

* * *

For three months the French warehouse's doors stayed locked. For three months the chic silver briefcase stayed shut away in the French warehouse. For three months the keys to the warehouse collected dust in Arthur's key bowl. For three months nobody dreamed while they slept.

The break was over.

"Her totem is a dream catcher." Cobb tosses a Polaroid to his left.

"Irony at it's best." A soft laugh escaped Ariadne's lips.

"It's immaturity, someone unable to handle complexity of this business' nature," Arthur says pushing the photo down the table.

"You're just cross because you didn't think of it first." Eames pauses to smirk, waiting for Arthur's reaction, or lack one. "Or is it because it's Dasha we're talking about?" _Bingo_.

Arthurs reaction was one for the history books. Arthurs head turned slow and systematically, calculating the anger boiling in side of him, controlling it from being released. Arthur's eyes dark with detestation for the situation he'd been put into. "If you wish to bring up The Mark on a personal manner than, Mr. Eames, I assure you there is a better time and place for it." Arthurs eye lids dropped slowly to show his boredom with the topic to Eames.

The room was at a pause, all eyes on Eames.

"I see. Are we to go fist-t-cuffs at dawn or should I bring my revolver?"

"When I decide I'll let you know." Arthur turned his seat to face Dom again, suppressed smile in tow.

"I shall enjoy whatever your answer may be Love." Arthur's neck stiffened at the pet name.

"She has several identification marks." With that Dom nodded to Arthur.

Arthur gathered his papers, jumped out of his seat and stepped to the right of Cobb. "The Mark has a scar across her right leg," Arthur started as he passed out a drawn copy of the female figure. Several enlargements were shown, all having photographs of the subjects marks. "She has two known tattoos. One is of a yellow daisy on her left foot, second toe. The other is of a small dream catcher on the start of her spine and her pili line."

"Her what," Eames looks up from the handout.

"Her pili line," Arthur repeats "Her hair line" The team all breathes out in understanding Arthur mumbles, "Cretin," and takes his place next to Ariadne.

"Yusuf and I have discussed the need for a sedative with a special quality." At this Yusuf stood up from his seat next to Eames and walked to a long table filled with glass beakers. All shapes and sizes, with each compound in it's own color.

"We need figured that we needed a compound that had an untested element. This element would allow use to go farther then we've gone before. It opens up the mind to new ideas and guiding."

Ariadne's eye brows crinkled together, "So you're sedative acts as a liberal arts collage."

"No. We'd be using it to control her mind. We'd be leaving ticks or queues for when we're back in reality." Arthur looked around the room to see Eames' and Ariadne's eyes glazed over. "In example, every time she hears a bell ring she'd sit up straight."

"Right, the only-"

"The only issue is where do you cross the line between cutting out her out as a threat and cut out all of what makes her, her."

Ariadne raises her hand slightly, "Who is Dasha?"


	2. The Baroque Hotel

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters... at all.

Title: The Dream Catcher

Rating: M for later chapters

Summery: She's a threat, she's elusive, They didn't know what to make of her. They couldn't compare her to anything they've ever seen before. She was going to be the end of them.

* * *

The sun was just starting peek its head over the clouds. The light rays slowly climbing up the Baroque styled hotel staining each room with yellow panned light. Up to the fifth floor, past the balcony, and in to the room.

Her hair in the sunlight becomes a blend of red and gold, each strand highlighted perfectly by the sun slow journey across her face. Her eyelids flashed open, releasing blue-green beams. Her eyes quickly scan the room taking in everything. The way the dust falls through the rays of light. The minutes hand slightest movement. The rise and fall of the crisp, robin egg sheets. As her senses awakened she hears the soft rumble of a snoring man next to her, and the sent of musk fills her lungs. A small grin lays suppressed by the baby fat in her cheeks.

"I must not be here," a whispered cry slipped out of the girl's mouth, "He must no be here." The girl pulled her back out from under the cotton sheets followed by her legs and finally slid her shoulders off the bed. A mans button down shirt hanging off the girl's shoulders, the excess fabric balancing out the girl's thighs. "Pizdetz! Shit, shit, shit!" The girl fumbled racing around the room, grabbing the clothes from the night before. The Russian grabs at a pile of black fabric, tearing through the pockets.

Aalst her hand finds the item, its leathery wire, the wax netting, and the single bead. She sets it carefully on its side. She lets go, it rolls flat. She takes a deep breath in and that's when panic sets in. _Not a dream, he can wake up;_ She breathes out.

She bends over, yanking a black pencil skirt over her knees. Unable to maintain her restricted balance, she stumbles. Her attempts to muffle the sounds of her heavy steps were in vain.

"Dasha?" The voice came from under the bed sheets. The snoring man had woken up.

The girl looked up from her balancing act. Her hair eschewed, covering her face, "Da?" Her eyebrows arched in anticipation.

"What are you doing?" The man finally folded the bed sheet over his body. His dark brown hair pieced to his face, gel from the night before still holding the hair stiff and spiky in the back. His dark brown eyes freezing Dasha where stood. It was either his eyes or his bare chest in the sunlight.

"Vat does eet look like I'm doing, Arthur?" Each word dripped out slowly, and each word stung like venom. Understanding the power of her words she stands up straight, jetting her hipbones out, and stepped her right heel forward.

"It looks like your leaving. In, of course, my shirt no less" Arthur reaches across the cherry side-table hands resting on an eyeglass case. He flicks it open and slides on a pair of round, frameless glasses. Arthur turns his head to the window, squinting past the glare.

"I bought eet for you. I get to vare eet vhen I vant, Plus I vear eet better." Dasha mumbled the last bit, getting distracted with the sliver dream catcher pendant around her neck. The blue-purple string holding a silver feather in place. Dashas mind begins to wonder looking at the glittering necklace twisting around her fingers; the toy caused a small smile to grow on her face.

"You know, lyubimaya, I often forget how young you are."

"I have only eight years less zan you Arthur!"

"That's quite an age gap, Dasha. It's a childhood apart. "

"Childhood means little in St. Petersburg. I was not to become child, I was to be adult!" Dasha yells, yanking the skirt up around her waist. Tearing off Arthurs shirt and slipping a salmon glittery top.

"Stay," Arthur pleaded, "for my sake?"

"Arthur, eef I did zings for your sake, I vould be dull and boring. I vould be in hotel room every night. Operas, ballet, song-plays, every veek; I am sick of eet! I vant to do these zings vith you Arthur, but not every veek. I vant to go to ze techno-clubs, to meet people who don't read Tolstoy, who can not see difference between French and German impressionism." Dasha dropped her studded bag around her neck.

She gave Arthur a regretful smile; a tear fell from her eye and down her flushed cheek. Dasha walked toward the door turned and mouthed, "Sorry," before closing the door.

"No more. No more of this." Arthur sighed shaking his head. "But at least she turned around." Arthur unfolded his hands and pushed the sheets off him, revealing his lean torso. Arthur certainly didn't have a bulky set of muscles, but he was in no way gawky.

Arthur jumped off of the bed and over to the jet black suitcase lying on the floor. He unzipped the suitcase show-casing a weeks worth of suits, ties, and boxers; all organized by colors and day to be worn. He took out the outfit marked under Saturday and pulled on a clean pair of boxers. "That's good enough for now."

Arthur walked over to the open balcony. Laying his arms across the railing Arthur looked out over the city skyline. A yellow mini-cooper rolled up to the curb in front of the Hotel, Dasha step out from the hotel patio, tossed her bag in the car and slipped in.

"Where to, love?" The driver asked.

"To ze airport, please," Dasha said looking out the window, up the hotel, up at the balcony on the fifth floor. The tears started to flow as the taxi sped down the cobble stone road and away from him. The tears quickly turned to sobs, and the sobs turned to screams. The teenager being punching the car's door frame, kicking at the empty air space finally falling on her side.

The taxi driver quickly pulled over in front of a café, got out and walked in to the shop.

"What ze fuck?"

The driver returned a few minutes later holding two coffee cups and a teen magazine. He unlocked the door and hopped into the back seat with Dasha. Dasha turned to face him, eyes red and swollen. The driver handed her one of the cups and the magazine. "You may carry your self like an adult but your just a little girl." The man's soft blue eyes meeting Dasha's.

"I do not like coffee."

"We're in England darling, its tea."

"Zank you…"

"Call me Mr. Eames."


End file.
